The Things We See
by RubyD
Summary: A series of oneshots about the Shinigami as seen through the eyes of everday people. Chapter Seven.
1. He Left Without a Word

Short and random tales of the Shinigami, as told from the point of view of ordinary, everyday people. 

The Things We See  
One: He Left Without a Word  
By RubyD 

I was the bartender at a local pub down near Nagasaki's bay. Not _in_ Nagasaki, mind you, but a smaller village not far where the people knew each other better. We had a regular ol' party for one of the long-time customers of ours - Kinei, that old fisherman - a month after his operation. His heart or something, none of use knew the details. Hard to figure, though - none other guys could afford to live in a decent apartment with the pay he gets, not to mention an operation. But most of us don't care for details, and, hell, he was alive so that was good enough for a party. 

Well, the party was in full swing, an' we were passing out beer by the buckets. (We treat our customers right, don't you let anyone ever tell you otherwise.) Kinei's one of them feeble yet hearty types - he might look like a shrimp, but I swear, when he was young Ryou's age he caught the biggest damn shark anyone had ever _seen_ around our folk. Single handedly, in that rust job of a boat of his. It was _easily_ the length of five guys head-to-foot. 

For days, even weeks after that, people'd go up to him and say, "Kinei! Good job, kid, you're going to get somewhere, you know?" in that swaggering proud voice you use around big name people. He was the local hero, you could say. But that's meaningless, you know? Where's anyone going to get catching big fish once in their lives? You reel them in, and before the month's out, you've sold or eaten the sucker and nothing left to show for it but a story and a pocket full of teeth as a reminder. 

But still, Kinei simply smiled and never said a word about it after - that's something he always did, smile like that. Like he knew something that the rest of us too comfortable with the dirt under our toes didn't. What it felt to be out there with the waves during a cyclone, staring straight into its eye, face turning red, and swearing at it all the swears you've ever heard sworn, with some you made up for good measure. That stick in the wind, Kinei. 

The party that night wasn't just for his operation, oh no, it was also for some kid he fished out of the water back a month. Yeah, his pop was too busy working the ropes when the boy - not even two years - dunked himself over the side. Stupid guy, you'd think he'd teach his kid to _swim_ before ever getting off the dock. Luckily, old Kinei was fishing not too far off, and so he jumped in and got the boy. A miracle, they say - he was thirty meters away, but the old fish swam that distance under a minute just like some crazed dolphin. 

Well, the kid was hauled out, and _then_ they say Kinei got into some sort of _seizure_ and grabbing his chest and all like it was going to bust open. A heart-attack, not surprising. It took a good long time for that man and his boy to bring the boat back to shore, but he had called ahead for an ambulance and they took Kinei right away. 

So then he came back the next week, right as fins on a shark, and looked the same as always. We only delayed this party because we weren't sure his heart could handle all the beer and women we ordered for him, heh-heh. 

The party was going great. I offered that little kid, who lived in Nagasaki with his pop actually, something to drink but his old man refused. He's going to get some one day, why not start early? Ah, a waste of good beer. Kinei sat at the bar all the while, watching and nodding to all the goings-on, though not really being a part. Hard to tell, but he was having the time of his life - you just had to watch for that smile of his. And I don't think he frowned at all during that night. 

Excuse me, he did frown. Once. I think… a new guy had walked in. None of us had ever seen him before, all dark clothed and hands in his pockets. Dressed liked a _Yakuza_, those mob-men we were always reading about in the news. Did offer up a mighty big smile though, and certainly didn't act like a hardened criminal willing to carve up everyone that looked at him funny. 

And a lot of us _were_ giving him funny looks. He had the _strangest_ colored eyes… Not everyday someone we don't know comes in here - we assumed it was the Nagasaki city-boy's friend at any rate. It didn't take too long, but the new guy was drinking and singing with the rest of us. He really could hold his alcohol, my God. Didn't touch the women, even if I knew that several _someones_ would have loved to meet our new foreigner. I say foreigner because with eyes like that he couldn't really be from around here, could he? Or at least, a parent. 

So finally he gets a moment up at the bar and shakes my hand. Strong grip, that fella, even if it made me feel cold for some reason… I forget his name, Su - something. I may have been drunk. 

I do remember him asking where was Kinei, and I pointed to the thin guy smiling over at the last seat. I guess the new guy was sort of surprised, 'cause for a party in his honor, Kinei wasn't jumping around and getting smashed like the rest of us in their right minds were. He was never really one who cared for fuss, now that I think about it. 

But anyway, Su - something strolled up to old Kinei like he was suddenly sober or what. Or at least, he looked kinda depressed. They were talking and _that's_ when Kinei frowned. I don't know what about, so I slide up as close as I can without them noticing to try to listen. 

I catch all kinds of words, and I don't know what to make of them, but it made me worry. Things like "operation" and "you weren't supposed to survive" and "you've suspected, haven't you?" Maybe the _Yakuza_ idea wasn't so far off after all. Kinei's still frowning one long frown, running a leathered hand through salty gray hair. 

I finally go up to them. "Hey, Kinei," I said, "is this guy bothering you?" 

It takes him a moment, but Kinei stops frowning and answer, "No, Oki-san, it's all right." He was always calling me with that "-san" thing, no matter how many times I remind him that we've known each other for years and it didn't matter. Stubborn old stick. 

I wait a moment, hoping he would say something else. He didn't, so I look up at the other guy, and manage to actually look straight into his eyes that night. They were… scary-looking. I can't describe them, but they were so bright and unnatural, with a kind of soul-sucking sadness to them only the really old-old men that I know of get. What kind of person was this who had that look when he wasn't even thirty? Color like good wine that had been stuck in the cellar too long… 

Though, that just means the wine tasted better when it came out, doesn't it? Ah, I don't know what I'm talking about. 

So, I walked away. Nothing left to do but serve the drinks and see what happens. Not two minutes later, though, the new guy and Kinei get up to leave. But Kinei first does something I didn't think I'd live to hear - a speech. Not a long speech, mind you, but a sentence of thanks for the food and drink and people who came to see him that felt like a speech when he was done. 

He turned around and went out the door, the other guy followed and left without a word. 

And now I realize, that was a goodbye speech. 

The next afternoon when everyone had recovered from their hangovers, we found Kinei asleep in bed. But, not asleep. He had died some time during the night, covers wrapped around him, with that soft smile on his face. 

The pub was quiet for days. 

It makes me wonder a whole hell of a lot. Though there was nothing that showed it, no poison, no wounds, I think Kinei had been _killed_ somehow. That man with the eyes must have done it, I'm sure of it - you never showed up around here again after Kinei died. 

Su - something, whoever and whatever you are, I hope you know just what a great guy you took away from us. A quiet guy that loved to fish, that came in every night for his drink of rum, and who smiled like he had a secret. Maybe I'm being unfair, but I hope you have enough of a conscience that you feel sorry. 

Sorry. 

I'm crying now, damn it. We miss you, Kinei. At least you went smiling. Maybe I'll see you one day, old man - _kid_ - I hope you went somewhere good. 

End 


	2. Concerning Genesis

Part of my series of one-shots about the Shinigami and how they affect the people they encounter on the job. OCs.  
For this story we are jumping in time a bit, going back about half a century. This is my version of a case that could have ended Tatsumi's and Tsuzuki's partnership.  
Special thanks: Becky, TK, and Kira 

  
The Things We See  
Two: Concerning Genesis  
By RubyD 

  
No matter what, I always thought myself to be a good neighbor. Even in a place like Kyoto, where all _sorts_ of people flocked into during the war, I did my best to be someone others could recognize. Someone they could talk about once in a while, saying things like, "That Jiko-san! So dependable, so kind, so sweet and normal. Go to her, maybe she'll help you." It made me proud. 

And what a wonderful wife I was! Always the perfect homemaker who had the dishes done, laundry folded, and dinner ready everyday for when he came back from work. In those days he was gone from morning to night, always dutiful. We didn't have any children - it wasn't the best time. 

I wasn't friends with very many people, but I'd like to say that I knew just about everyone in the area. The Sozais at the corner store, gladly giving their first customers a free fruit sample. The Denaku family two doors down, whose children would constantly snitch things from windowsills. Everyone could recognize everyone else, and life crawled by during good days - days when my only want was to be liked by others and have the evening rice ready. 

Then she arrived. A new neighbor, Shizuka-san, to the empty little hutch hidden by the bigger homes. Her eyes were always small and nervous, turning her head everywhere like a rabbit as she clutched her daughter to her chest. I don't remember a day where she wasn't with her little Hanabi. Still looking around, Shizuka-san would have this _mad_ glint in her dark eyes, and when she ever caught us staring from outside she'd turn her daughter away and slam the windows shut. 

I didn't like her. Everyone agreed - there was something not _right_ about this girl. This woman with a child - probably not even two years - yet no father to be seen. Could he have been killed during the war? Or maybe little Hanabi was a _bastard_, and her mother had been abandoned by their family? Whatever the case was, we didn't like the way she'd lock herself in all day long. 

But once in a while she'd have to go out to the corner store and buy groceries like the rest of us. How she afforded to I never knew, because I don't think she ever worked. 

I had an _upsetting_ encounter with her one time we were both at the store. It was nearing a festival, so people were coming in and out all the time. Not a big store, but everyone liked it well enough. Well, I was looking through the carrots, barely a meter from the girl with her sleeping daughter as she poked at plums, when suddenly she dropped her grocery basket. 

Being the good neighbor I was, practicing all manners of courtesy towards this clumsy girl, I bent to help her. Maybe she'd thank me. But instead, she was looking up to the street outside and all pale-faced - and she started _screaming_. Then Hanabi woke up and began howling too! What in the world! 

Everyone turned to stare, and I'm so embarrassed. My face is red, oh. Had I done something in offense? I took her out the side door and tried to calm her down. It wasn't working! Shizuka-san kept hugging her child, crying. 

"They're following me," she finally sobbed. Little Hanabi clutched her hair, quiet then. 

"Who?" I twisted my hands into my dress. 

"Two of them," she hiccupped, and forced her gasps to stop. "Men wearing suits. For the last month…" 

My heart jumped. Suits? Maybe they were from the government? I looked down the street, twisted my dress even more, but saw no one in suits. "W-what do they want with you?" 

"Not me." Then she practically _glared_, face puffy and blotchy. With her tiny fingers still tangled in her mother's long hair, Shizuka-san slowly turned Hanabi towards me - and for the first time I could fully see the child's face. "They want my baby." 

Little Hanabi had red eyes. 

"My beautiful, perfect baby…" 

Demonic eyes that glowed like angry embers. 

I stumbled back and Hanabi started to wail again. I was shaking. _What_ was that _thing_? As I kept watching, where Hanabi's hands were grasping Shizuka-san's hair, they were… smoking. 

"She's not a monster," Shizuka-san growled at me. Then, to the sky she screeched, "She's not a demon! She's my baby! Look at her." She stepped toward me, ignoring the people beginning to gather, wanting to prove herself. "How can demons cry?" 

But Hanabi wasn't crying. The most ugly sounds were coming out of her pinched face, but there were no tears, none at all. 

"Demons don't cry!" She hugged the girl tightly, suddenly staring beyond the crowd. Two men… in suits. A bit like the kind my husband wore. The one with glasses was trying to make his way through the crowd - Shizuka-san spun and _ran_, as if death were at her heels. 

And then the men were just… _gone_. 

"Are you all right?" someone asked me. 

I don't know. So I don't answer. I only sank to my knees and tried to ignore that strange smell of burnt hair, and forget those eyes which were red like fresh blood. 

* 

My husband complained because I didn't get anything at the store. 

The next night, a fire broke out in our neighborhood. I heard about it while washing up the dishes. It was bad - it had started in the middle of the block and spread out until half of all the homes were destroyed. Minutes later I stood far away from the all people who were trying to put out the fire, but I could still feel how absolutely _hot_ it was. My husband, he told me to meet him later at the Hall, since he would be helping and didn't want me stuck at home in case it caught too. 

And I found her again as I headed to the Meeting Hall. The road was dark and there were no others, but she was shouting over her shoulder a very desperate, "Leave us alone!" 

"Shizuka-san!" I don't move, letting her run blindly towards me. The mother lost her footing and spilled onto the ground, twisting her body just enough to land on one shoulder. Hanabi in her arms gave a piercing cry. "Shizuka-san!" 

"She's mine, she's mine! You can't have her!" 

Chaos. 

"Shi - !" 

Every window down the street had burst open with flames, the shards flew everywhere and searing heat surrounded us. The fire… looked almost black. I dropped to hide my face in my arms. After a second I gaze up again, finding Shizuka only a few meters away. 

But it didn't look like her. 

She had been burned. Her arms and chest were black and charred. Hair now short and frizzy, I could see her white teeth through one side of her face. Only strips of dry skin held the creature together. 

I couldn't breathe. 

And Hanabi - she was perfectly unharmed. Smooth unbroken skin. The child stared at me, unhappy, voice shattering the wind, with her eyes shining like candles - and I froze. I thought, _felt_, that if I had moved at all… 

"Shizuka!" someone's voice called. A man. "Please! We're just trying to - " 

"_What do you want with us!_" 

I saw him then - it wasn't the one with glasses. He answered, "_I can't let anymore people get hurt!_" 

"H-help," I rasped, barely more than a whisper. Sick, I felt so sick. 

Shizuka-san somehow sat up, hugged - always hugged - Hanabi against her. Something crackled and hissed, and I smelled something other than hair burning this time. 

With her last bit of dignity, she whispered, "She's only human." 

Fire. 

It burned her. It burned everything. All I did was watch, frozen, as Shizuka-san crumbled into ashes. 

Still far, the man reached out. "NO!" 

I don't feel sick anymore. I feel nothing. 

A mantra. "No, no, _no!_" 

This wasn't happening. 

But Hanabi was still there, and crying - really crying. The heat faded out, leaving her standing unsteadily on two bare feet. The slouched man walked up to her, holding two shaking arms out, and the little girl answered by reaching back. Eyes brighter than ever. 

"C-come here, Hanabi-chan… It's okay, you'll be just fine." He choked, hands gently lifting the child close to him. "I promise." 

But the moment he brought her close, she began screeching again. The sleeves of his suit were smoking now, and his skin turned dark where he touched the demon-child. 

I stared blankly. All these houses burning use to hold people I knew. 

"Let her go!" someone ordered. The man with glasses had arrived. 

The other one just held on harder, like how Shizuka-san did. Pained. "No! I-I can't!" 

"She can't control it, she'll burn you alive. Put her down, _right now._" Harshly spoken words, yet his tone was afraid. 

"But I - " 

"_Do it!_" 

With a half-sob, just in time, he dropped Hanabi to the ground. 

Black fire. 

The child gave a scream that faded away into a moan, her eyes the brightest in the heat and smoke. Her body finally gives, and layers of her disappeared. 

_Gone._

I rolled over and threw up. 

The dark-suited man finally noticed me, and rushed over. He's trying not to shake me. His arms - they're fine now. 

"Miss?" The voice is strained, distant, about to break. I think he was crying. "Miss! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry - please, stay calm, just look at me." 

I looked into his eyes - those haunting and unnatural eyes, saw the tears shine and burn and reflect back at me those awful red-black flames - 

and I began to scream. 

  
End 


	3. And What I Know

Notes: For this short chapter, it would help if you knew the manga events after book 8 (after the Kyoto arc). The narration switches perspective halfway, just a little advanced notice. Imagine two people in a room, one of them a servant of the Kurosaki house talking about Hisoka, and her audience someone you should be able to figure out…   
Thanks to: Becky, TK, Jess  


The Things We See  
Three: And What I Know  
By RubyD  


I think I remember the night he got sick. 

It was spring. The sakura tree was blooming - it's the only one in out village, did you know? - and it was just beautiful. Generations of the Kurosaki family are buried around it, so no one from the village would go near it. When I was a little girl, the other children and I use to dare each other to grab a handful of the soft petals from the tree, but I'd always cheat and take them from the ground. 

But I'm old now, and games like that are silly. My family has been working for the Kurosaki house for twelve generations, did you know that? No, I suppose not, oh-ho. Well, my family has always been proud to be of service for them. It's because of the Kurosaki that this town and its people exist… 

Kiko-san, one of the other long-lived servants, disappeared that same night, come to think of it. I wonder where she went. 

Spring festivals were never quiet or boring events. Hisoka-sama wanted to go so much, asking the others if he could, but he had to stay inside this year because he had… done something bad. Poor child. He could hear the all the noise, probably - people laughing, drinking, setting off fireworks. Such a _happy_ time, and he had to miss even this as punishment. 

That was six years ago, if I recall. 

I was sure Hisoka-sama was in his room when everyone went to bed. The moonlight was just peeking through the window. 

But the next morning the master came in with the child in his arms, shaking, and bloody, and pale, and so _cold_. Nagare-sama took him to Hisoka-sama's room to lay him down, and told us to get a doctor. Then he left. 

That was the last time he really saw Hisoka-sama. 

You see, knowing this family, knowing a little of what goes on behind those closed doors, I think the master had an idea of what happened. Oh, he'd never _say_, of course. Always secretive, even as a boy. He probably thought it was the doings of that _snake_ - 

Oh-ho, excuse me, sir. It has been a while since I've talked to anyone new, so I tend to talk about strange things. Never mind, please forgive this old woman…! 

… Where was I? 

I don't know how he got so sick. All curled up in his bed, looking so small, like his whole body hurt. I tried to get him to eat something, but Hisoka-sama wouldn't move. Didn't seem to know anyone was there. 

There was dry blood, but if we touched him to clean it off - he'd scream. 

There was a doctor just passing through town, all the way from _Kyoto_ no less. From the moment he stepped in, we all liked him right away. He was so polite and kind and warm, and everything about him was like an angel. Muraki-sensei would be able to do something, we had hoped. The Kurosaki line _must_ continue, no matter the costs. 

By this time it was late morning, and Hisoka-sama could open his eyes just a bit. They were glazed over, looking back and forth at things that weren't there. A waking dream. I was still trying to feed him breakfast, you see - rice, and some egg - when Sensei walked into his room. The child suddenly tensed up, _froze_. 

That scared me. Something was wrong, I could tell. Fortunately Muraki-sensei was there to help, and being from the city, he _must_ have known a lot more than the village doctor did. Whatever was wrong, this man could fix it. 

I felt completely safe with Sensei - he had that effect on people. 

"You'll be all right," I told Hisoka-sama, patting his head as gently as possible. He had the softest hair, kind of like a cat's. 

Did you ever have any cats, sir? No? Ah, just a bird person, I see… 

Sensei promised that he would do everything possible to heal the boy. He smiled that soft, wonderfully gentle smile of his, strolled over and brushed his fingers over Hisoka-sama's forehead. The boy _flinches_, the most movement I'd seen all morning. 

"Please leave us alone for a moment," he said to me. 

And then I walked out. 

His voice like pure silver… 

* 

I wished then that somehow I hadn't been the one to accompany Tatsumi on this case. I stumbled out of the room, away from the old woman, and made up some excuse about not feeling well, which wasn't a total lie. 

After adjusting my glasses they only end up more crooked. It didn't help that I wasn't paying attention to where I was going. Just going _somewhere_... I wandered down one of the many, many long halls in this house before finally stopping to lean on a doorway. What would it have been like to grow up in this house? 

My _God_. 

Fix my glasses again. Tatsumi's a bad influence. 

Bon… 

Even though you wouldn't be happy that I knew, well, suspected the circumstances of how you had died… I was never _sure_. And now that I do know, I can't _do_ anything, can I? I'm not like Tsuzuki, where you let your guard down, even if you don't think that everybody notices. And pity would be an insult after everything you've been through. 

I have nothing to offer but a smile. A dishonest one, at that. 

Bon… I'm sorry. 

  
End. 


	4. Chaos Effect

Notes: Back to the basics. Another one surrounding Tsuzuki.  
Thanks to: Becky, TK! 

The Things We See  
Four: Chaos Effect  
By RubyD 

  
Two weeks ago, a child and some other neighborhood children were playing soccer in an open field. It was a bad design, cars and traffic flowed just beyond the grass, but these kids ignored it. They've been playing here ever since they can remember. 

A tree stood in as a goal post. The center forward came racing up the field, flanked by one offense and a defense from the other team. It's a tight pace as he searches for an opening, and finds one - his teammate, the other offense, had a clear spot. All he needed was to kick the ball to him, and then the offense could easily score a goal. 

So he aims. 

And kicks. 

But, his left foot hits a dip in the ground, and while the ball goes flying away, the direction is off. 

That day, the soccer ball was supposed to have bounced into the street. In the heat of the game the other boy would have blindly followed it out into the road, right in front of a bus. The diver would have swerved, missed the child, and gone into oncoming traffic. The resulting accident would have killed six people - four on the road, and two on the bus. 

All because of a game. 

But, _that didn't happen_. Because, very simply, I knew that it would. 

I go to sleep, and sometimes, when I wake up the next morning, I just _know_. 

Two weeks ago, that day, I decided to take a walk. I ended up by the field, just in time to get hit in the head by a soccer ball and have a child run up and bow deeply and apologize. _Excuse us, sir, we didn't mean to._ I just shook my head, bowing slightly back before returning the offending toy. The ground rumbled as a bus roared by, kicking up the bit of dust on the ground. 

They all survived, and I smiled. 

Except… 

Now, today, four out of the six that day have died. Completely unrelated save for that one connection - a connection only I know. Two left, and I only found out their addresses today. Without wasting time, I take a bike and leave - the road's too slow during rush hour for me to drive. 

A young woman and her brother. They lived only five blocks away, the fourth floor of an apartment complex, room 405. No pets, and only recently graduated. I need to get to them before… 

And there he is, down the walk in front of me, buying - of all things - a snow cone from the street vender. 

I knew he'd show up, the Shinigami. 

Dressed in that ever constant black suit and scuffed shoes which were wearing down, the unearthly and striking man steps away from the stand looking in anticipation at the frozen treat. There's an aura about him, just something that draws your attention, a type of dangerous power hidden beneath that innocent mask. That's what I think, anyway. His partner - one of the many I've seen him with, but never the same person more than once - was another man only a bit shorter than him with black curls, yet somehow less captivating. He glances at the first in boredom, while _he_ bites into the cone. 

I hated him. How could this beast dare pass himself off as human, while he took the souls of people who were simply trying to live? Those that didn't deserve to die. And why could I prevent their deaths, if they had to die in the first place? 

Angrily, I pick up speed, pedaling directly at him. 

I've seen them over the years. I only started having visions when I was in high school - a curse, you could say, because no matter what I do to stop what I've seen from happening, in the end everyone has died. Because of _him_. 

"Tsuzuki-san, get out of the way," his partner warns, seeing me. Ah, so the freak has a name. 

The first time I saw him, Tsuzuki, was outside my mother's apartment when I was visiting from college. She would have been mugged five nights ago and then died of a heart attack if I hadn't called her just when I did. So I walked up the stairs while he came down - and I remember, very clearly, that he _looked_ at me. Like he recognized my face from somewhere. 

And those eyes… 

Upstairs, I found the door to her apartment unlocked. It had squealed as I opened it. Calling out and asking where she was, I went into her room and saw her laying in bed, a family photo clutched in her cooling hands. 

Damn him. 

I keep pedaling. I nearly crash into him with the bike, but Tsuzuki stumbles back just before we could collide. I whip my head around and a sense of satisfaction, if short-lived, claims me as the snow cone tumbles from his hands and splatters cherry-red on the ground. 

Eyes widened and stared at me, but I turn away before he could get a good look. Like the rest of him, he hadn't changed at all over the past few years. 

But, them behind me, maybe I'm going to make it there this time. To that apartment, where those two are. Then I'll… then what? I should have thought this through more. What can _I_ do against the Gods of Death? 

I pedal out into the road and a kid waves at me. 

"Shit, mister!" 

There's a bus. 

Maybe I won't make it on time, after all. 

* 

The steps to the apartment were painful to trudge, and by the first flight webs of fire shot through my chest like little, digging claws, stopping every five so I could _breathe_. Elevators down - have to get up to the fourth, have to get up there right now. I don't see much in front of me but the floor and the railing which I'm hanging on to, and it feels like the walls are shaking a bit or is that my legs? The red of the carpet has that old gray tint to it, like it used to be a bright, cheerful color like a jeep, a skid knee, like a snow cone, but too many pairs of feet have worn it down until you could barely tell what pattern was actually on it. 

I'm here. 

Am I late? 

That bus only clipped the back of my bike, sending me flying, soaring through the air and pavement. I think I broke a rib. I think I broke more than that. What a mess - traffic stopped and they tried to get me to stay down so they could get an ambulance even though it would take some time for the cars to move out of the way or they would send in people on foot to check on me but I just _can't_ wait you see? So I left. 

I'm always late. 

Half-way up the second flight I heard the tromping of feet somewhere, getting louder, getting closer. 

By the third it's right above me. 

Five steps more, and I'm still going much too slow. Air doesn't seem to get to me, even if I'm breathing hard. My fingers are going numb, and so are my lungs, which would be okay I guess if my feet could get a steady grip on the ground. Red stripes. 

A voice breaks through the mess in my head. "Are you okay?" he asks, hand on my arm, keeping me standing. 

With every ounce of strength in me, I reject that hand, shove him hard enough to just almost stumble down a step or two. I don't have to look up to know who it is. _Him_. I hope he breaks a leg, but his partner catches him before he could _really_ start falling. 

There's a _moment_. You know those kinds, right? Where no one speaks, nobody moves, and time suddenly feels exactly too short and long. 

Then, Tsuzuki asks, "What was that for?" 

I don't say anything, still focused on the carpet. 

"Hey, do you want us to get some help?" 

A rage builds up inside me, finding voice. "How can _you_ pretend to be so worried about me?" 

"What do you… mean…?" Sounding perfectly confused. Perfectly human. 

"I'll stop you. I hate you." 

And so I raise my head, boring a hole through narrowed eyes into his own open ones. His partner might as well not be there. Tsuzuki actually looks hurt. And then there's something else…he _looks_ at me. Like he recognized my face. 

"I've seen you before." 

"The bike. I was on a bike." 

"Before that." 

At that, I jerk and suddenly I'm terrified. He _knew_ me. Why the hell would he remember? 

I nod, very slowly. I'm almost afraid to ask. "Why won't you leave them alone?" 

I wish I knew what thoughts were going through his head. 

"I have to." That response sounds hollow, even to me. "It's my job." 

"Is that all you can say?" I snap back, feeling my face growing hot. 

He doesn't answer. Doesn't move, doesn't speak. He looks terrible, but I don't care. Angrily, I find the power to stumble up the stairs, tripping over myself to get away. And he doesn't follow. 

So I make it. 

To the fourth floor. 

Room 405. 

… The door's unlocked, and from the crack in the doorway I can see that it's dark. I don't need to go in to know. 

Again, right on time to be late. Damn you. 

I find a spot on the wall and slide down, not caring how much my chest and body hurts as I hunch forward. Hiding my face in my hands, I don't see anything but wet blackness, and his eyes - knowing, bright, a hint of gray seeping into them as I lay down and cry. 

What's the point of doing this anymore? Why stop things when it doesn't matter in the end? 

Why would you save someone if they'll die anyway? Kill if you actually cared? 

_It's my job._

  
End 


	5. Art

A/N: Time to kick it up a notch. Sorry to anyone waiting for a chapter with Terazuma - he didn't work out so I dumped that and skipped ahead. New story! And since I know next to nothing about sculpting, forgive me for inconsistencies.

Summary: When imitation is not enough, and hobby becomes obsession. 

*** 

The Things We See   
Five: Art   
By RubyD 

*** 

The arch of a spine bending back in regards to my own touch, the feel of the young, smooth, absolutely glowing skin trembling and burning with living heat under my fingers, and then the softly sharp, almost pleading gasp next to my ear filling the silence of the velvet black night... I awoke, my strong sculptor's hands groping for the cotton blankets, for the drawer lamp's rough switch, and for the vision of that beautiful form which had haunted my sleep for several nights passing. Panting, I struggled against the wave of desire for something so abstract as a dream, as a figure able to be captured only in the mind so wondrous that it was. 

I stared out the open door of my room, fully aware of what lay outside in my studio. I was a sculptor, an artist, and my home was filled with the liquid forms of people dancing forever encased in stone, arms reached out to grasp at nothing, at no one, an invisible partner to steps that would never be finished. All my lovely work, which were now nothing but marble trinkets to be forgotten compared to that dream. Beyond that shadow-lit doorway was my life. 

And in the middle of my workshop would be a block of marble; cool, creamy, fast to warm under a touch. There it sat, waiting, surrounded by the nest of sketches made in the mad hours of the morning, furiously drawn over and over in as many angles and dimensions possible. A map to be memorized perfectly before even the roads were laid down. 

Without knowing how I arrived I found myself at my workshop. The cold dim light through the windows were just enough to catch that immense block, that which challenged my sight and talents. It wanted to be transformed. 

I picked up my chisel. 

* 

I recalled a conversation I had with an old college friend a month ago. 

"Taka-kun, how have you been?" I asked as I served the wine he had bought. 

"Very well, Saino-san," Taka-kun had said. "And you?" 

"Same as always." 

"Your pieces have become quite well known, I see." 

"Thank-you, have you seen them around? It's so easy to get buried under other artists here in Tokyo." 

"Oh, I've been following your work, actually." 

"Really?" I was quite flattered, and a little proud. I already knew I was good - the art museum had an exhibit with my statues recently. "Thank-you again. So what brings you here?" 

"I was wondering if I could commission you to do something for me." 

I set my cup down with a gentle clink. "I'm sorry," I said. "But I try not to take commissions." 

"Oh?" Taka-kun was puzzled. "My I ask why?" 

I wave to the figures waltzing around the studio, the golden highlight of the sun humming in the air. "I do this for myself, my own reasons. It's more than a mere hobby done for money - this is passion, my art. And it's almost impossible to get perfect what someone wants, unless I feel for it, too." 

* 

My art had to come from me. 

Some strange muse had taken a hold of my fancy, ghostly wisps of sweet flowers filling my heart, making me crave - of all things - that innocent flesh of another man. A man being created under my very care, who my mind swore would be more beautiful than anything in life. 

After working for many endless hours I finally had the rough shape of that figure which taunted me in sleep. It was so far removed from the vision, so imperfect, that I wanted to weep at my failure. But still, I could see that which it might be, what it will be under my ministrations, like a violinist trying to coax those singing notes from his instruments and knowing that only he could do it. 

His hands were first. Sanding down that powdery stone, tracing those slim digits which held me in a trance as I smoothed the edges away, cupping them in my own in awe of the minuscule details which had emerged. Yes. That's it. Softly, I brought my shaking lips into his palms, feeling the small lines which crawled from one side to the other, the spidery writing of nature, trying to imagine them warm and alive against me… 

I suckled gently on an ivory finger, and then bit down. 

What would that skin feel like splitting under my teeth? 

Though I'd lost track of the clock, and seconds or forever may have passed outside the confines of my sanctuary, but it felt like no time at all as the rest of him took shape. This would be far beyond any level of perfection I had created before. 

* 

"Taka-kun, don't forget your wine…" I told him as he was about to leave. It was very expensive wine, and the dark evergreen bottle was still more than half-full. 

"Keep it," he answered, donning his pristine coat. "I won't be needing it, and it suits your tastes much more... But keep in mind my offer, will you?" 

"All right, since we are friends…" I shrugged. "But no guarentees." 

Taka-kun smiled. "Then I'll be seeing you again, Saino-san." 

* 

He was finished. 

With the leftover wine in one hand, I sank to my knees, gloriously happy to finally be able to see outside of a dream the young man whose touch was more intoxicating than any wine I have ever had. Those arms which I would hold though they did not grasp in return, that small waist which might have been girlish if not for the sweeping angles of his hips funneling down to his nakedness, and then the graceful lines of the legs which looked as if he were ready to walk off the stone pedestal. There was a sensuality of the awkward lankness to his limbs, youthful and not quite grown into himself, but strong and sure in stance. 

Truly, beautiful. 

The face was the most difficult to capture, but staring into him now I could see the sharp intelligence in his gaze, veiling a longing and innocence as he gazed to some unknown object. I wish I could recreate color in my statues - in this state, though marvelous, they were as cold and gray as Taka-kun's. Those eyes were something I yearned to hold with my own, the memory of what they should be like pinned under my stare. 

And then those lips. 

Breathing hard, I uncorked the wine and took a swallow, the alcohol like fire down my dry throat, taking away a small sliver of hunger. But my body was craving another source, and when I couldn't take it anymore I leapt towards him, that cursed form teasing my mind, and then the unreality of the marble inflaming my despair. He wasn't real! 

A hazy rage had fallen over me. All this time, all this work, and still only one thing was needed to make him… perfect… A soul. Life. I embraced the statue, so much thinner than I, my arms entwining through his own, wanting to bury my face into the delicate hair. With wine on my mouth I forced myself onto his lips, lingering forever on that unyielding marble, wishing with all my might for something to happen, only to finally tear away as I realized just how foolish it all was. 

And then… a second transformation took place. 

Was it me, or did that mouth become soft? 

Was it me, or did a pink blush begin to creep over his limbs? 

And his hair fell through my fingers like silky caramel. They matched his eyes, which were green as apples in the summer light and blinked at me before widening in surprise. 

"Who… what am I doing here?" That unfamiliar voice, which had not spoken a word in any of my fevered dreams, rang clear and sweet like a golden bell. 

In my joy I cried out, no words could express the euphoria of this moment, when my love had been realized. I scooped the young man into my tight embrace, and he suddenly seemed to realize his lack of attire. If I had the time I would have brought to him the sacrifices of a thousand miles of silk to worship him in. 

"My love," I murmured into his hair even as he twisted the front of my shirt. There was a flavor to his gasps that echoed those in the dreams. Dreams which would forever be true. "_You are mine._" 

*** 

To Be Continued 

*** 

Based on the Greek myth of Pygmalion and Galatea. 


	6. Descent

A/N: This jumps a little between the present and past. The point of view is all weird in this one.  
Warnings: A continuation of the previous chapter - this chapter I will give an "R" rating. A bit short, graphic, and disturbing, so skip this one if you're uncomfortable of the subject of NCS. Without further ado… 

*** 

The Things We See  
Six: Descent  
By RubyD 

*** 

It had been a week. A week since you'd come to life in my arms, a week since you would let me touch you, so imperfect that I was. Seven days where you'd hidden yourself in my room, locked the door as I clawed and pounded and begged. Tried to coax you back into this world containing only us, completely alone. 

You told me your name was Hisoka. My Hisoka. 

There were no windows in there, the walls locked in stone and iron, and the only way for me to get in was through that door. So I waited, never sleeping, only fetching food for myself when I can bear to be away from my guard, envisioning what my little secret looked like laying on the white, white sheets and pillows, eyes lowered and breath shallow. Imagining what you looked like dipped in the inviting warm waters of the bedroom bath, leaning back on the cool grid of tiles, your flawless neck stretched and trembling as you let go and slipped beneath the surface. 

Please, please, let me in. 

* 

Not long ago, Taka-kun had visited me one more time. I was still making my darling, sanding and smoothing the marble until it seemed soft, without a mark or scar to be found from the chisel. Taka-kun had strolled in, not knocking - or maybe he had and I did not hear, too focused on the simple sweeping act of sanding - and he stared at my statue. He watched with widened silver eyes that dreamy form caught in mid-stride, so life-like. Why was Taka-kun here? To take back his wine? To observe? I thought I had locked the door. 

Then, his voice cutting through my fog like the glint of a knife, Taka-kun said, "It's wrong." 

I stopped. "Excuse me?" 

"It's wrong." As if that explained everything. "I commissioned for someone else." 

"Commission?" My face grew warm, eyes burned from not blinking. 

"Do you not remember?" A tilt of his head sent pale hair weaving across that one eye of his. "It was last month. Something must have went - " 

"Wrong?" I calmly gripped my chisel, the dark extension of my arm, and kept it to my side. "Nothing is wrong. This isn't your idiotic commission, I'm not working on that." 

"Saino-san." Taka-kun said nothing else, becoming still as the stone itself, a true living statue of ivory, watching me as I watched him. Then Taka-kun smiles a small, small smile, but even that seemed too toothy for a man like him. "I will admit, your sculpture is beautiful." 

There was a note in his voice, a tone of… of possession, of an almost-satisfaction, of a lion gazing over his deer which made my heart jump angrily. Taka-kun started forward, a white hand daring to reach out and touch him. 

"Get out, Sensei," I barked, calling him by his title, stepping between him and my creation. "Get out, don't come back." 

Eyes narrowed to slivered slits, he halted at my actions. Finally, before brushing his long coat behind him, he murmured so very calmly, "Do as you wish." 

* 

You tried to run away - why, oh why? Did I not make you happy? 

A sheet wrapped around you and billowing like the dash of wings, you tried to leave, racing out of the room as I half-slept. I woke and reached for you - no, no, no, _you can't leave!_ The hall tilting in funny angles, our feet slipping over the frozen floor, not knowing how or when the chase would end, knocking sculptures over, the scent of sweat, fleeing to the workshop. 

I caught you. You lashed out, hitting, hurting, and I shoved you back. Your head hit the brick wall, a small cut there, and you sank to your knees, dizzy. I cried out. 

Why, why, why did you do that? Your skin, your body, now was marred with that cut, the trickle of blood of a wound not healing. I picked you up, grasping tight, whispering things to ease the pain and bring you back. Are you all right? Are you awake? Shh, it's okay, it's okay, I'm here. 

But you still fought me. 

  
Maybe it was wrong. This obsession, this need. But when I looked into those eyes - eyes like the Spring, of morning dew on leaves - I knew that I didn't care anymore. 

You twisted and turned, and I let go. You collapsed to the floor, gasping, the moon white sheet fanning out beneath you like the damp and wrinkled wings of a butterfly finally too exhausted to escape. Your lashes fluttered together, and you moaned - the most fragile, lovely sound to ever grace my ears. The thin control I had held over myself began to fracture, my skin tingling for the feel of your soothing heat, the pit of my stomach burning. 

At that moment I wanted you more than anything - more than art, more than life, more than my very own soul. Do you understand? I gave up my soul to have you. Like a wolf I fell, devouring your taunt flesh and sweet cries with my lips, pressing us together further into the heavenly sheets, milking those pretty sounds from my little secret's rosy throat. 

I took you in my arms to the world of only us, forever in this studio of mine where nothing mattered but the dance of two bodies in the cold darkness, so completely alone. I want this to be beautiful, so perfect, for the both of us. I took my time, so long have I wanted to caress you and love you like this - in ways I could not have when you were mere marble, so still, so lifeless and untouchable. 

And you screamed. Oh God, did you scream. 

* 

It's night again. 

Lovely. 

You were lovely even when you sleep, shivering from the cold and cocooned in that sheet. I don't dare disturb your beauty, but when I reached out to grace your fingers with my own - you opened your eyes and flew awake. Your breath was set to a familiar pace, panting so loud as you struggled to speak. What is it? What's wrong? What are you trying to say? Su-what? 

You're going to hurt yourself if you keep doing that. I knelt to you to pull you back, to keep you safe, to stop your scramble for something I did not know. I gave you a kiss. 

That bottle of wine Taka-kun gave me was still here. Still on the floor where I had left it that long week ago, the scent of its depths having escaped into the air and lingered like small sweet flowers. It would be horrible to drink now, but suddenly together we knocked it over, tossed it so hard that the gem-green bottle fell to shards, shattering over the floor. 

You kicked me, much harder, with a violent strength and a cry. I bent over, gasping to refill my breath, coughing and choking, lights and darks playing across my sight. When I looked back up, you're standing painfully and gloriously, a new look in your eyes - bright, blind, and as broken as the sharp bottle shard in your hands. 

"What are you - " 

  
To Be Continued 

A/N 2: You people have been so patient and kind, thank-you. Also, congratulations to Literary Eagle for seeing it the first time around. You know.  
Big thanks to: TK and Becky, my beta-readers to whom I could not do without. 


	7. Changing Wind

Notes: And it keeps going…! This is focused on the vision-guy from chapter four, so I hope you've read that beforehand. Told in the second point of view. 

*** 

The Things We See  
Seven: Changing Wind  
By RubyD 

*** 

Seeing the future. You used to think that kind of power would be a fun to have. Why shouldn't it be? It would be great to be able to pick lottery numbers, or the answers to tough questions. But the truth is, you can't pick what you see, and questions aren't readily answered. And the things that you _do_ see… 

So you go to bed at night, every night, to dream. It's routine, it's normal as blinking, as the darkness of the room melting into the darkness of a sleeper's mind. Your breathing slows, quiets, and before long you will dream. 

Before long you see this. 

_This_… 

This is an art studio by the looks of it. Tall, spacious, taking up land area most people couldn't afford to walk on - much less live. Here statues line the walls and floor, sitting on top of columns, or resting on short platforms, almost a forest of artwork. Connecting hallways leading into the dark, probably to other rooms and storage. It's getting darker, and through a window you can see the bright Tokyo skyline shining like a holiday. 

On the floor there are two people - a man and a boy, both unclothed, and one of them asleep. It's not hard to imagine what had gone on. You are both curious and worried. 

The man has black hair, with a streak of white over an ear like a dove flying against a canvas. His hands move forward - they're strong, confident, and textured with calluses, the obvious creator of the stone ballroom. The sculptor's face is as chiseled as the stone, eyes glinting with something akin to awe. Fingers glide through the space between him and his sleeping, marble-skinned lover. The figure is a bit lanky under the sheet, with the angles of youth only beginning to melt away into the grace of adulthood. 

The hardened fingers brush over a smooth palm. The boy, eyes nearly glowing with color, awakens at the glancing touch… and tries to scream. This is anything but the reaction of a contented lover. The voice comes out strangled, mouth gaping without forming words, so he backs away as the man leans in to steal a kiss. 

Still watching, your sight aware of and gazing down on everything, you're fascinated. 

…Then the vision gets messy. 

There is a bottle, green. The two knock into it and it breaks. 

Old wine covers the floor, pink. The boy stands, griping a piece of freed glass so hard that he's bleeding. The man looks up and the shard is brought down, cutting his face and cutting a wide brown eye. 

Everything is red. 

It's horrible. You want to look away from the scene, but you can't. You're not allowed. Not until you wake up, and you won't quite yet. 

Shielding his face the man throws the younger to the side, but the boy's nearly… crazed. He's fighting, but he's not really seeing. Statues tumble to the ground, also to break and add their own jumbled colors to the green, pink, red and white, all bleeding together in a rush. While he has the glass, the sculptor has picked up his chisel. Flowing like a violent dance they hurtle into column after column around the room, racing, before one final pillar is sent crashing onto the pair just as the man snares the boy against the floor - 

And while the man would die instantly from a broken neck, that boy would lie under the weight of the pillar for hours, impaled with the chisel, alone and unable to move. It is now that he is able to speak, clumsily, but he talks for a long time. 

Eventually the voice fades out. Then he too would pass. 

* 

A dream of the future. 

You roll over in bed and sit up, hands over your face. You think you might be sick. 

We've all seen things we wished we hadn't. 

Birds flutter outside the short window, and the sun's long up. It's late morning, and something tells you that this dream will come true this night. 

You get up to change out of those sleep clothes, then call work to tell them you won't be there today, again. It's just a convenience store, but it's the second longest job you've held, and they would feel bad firing an old man. That one is a nicer job. 

You leave, grabbing your cane before stepping out of the apartment to hobble to the train station. 

To Tokyo. You hope you're not late. 

  
Did you remember to lock the door before leaving? When you get back home later you'll also have to water the plants. Maybe then you can apologize to the landlady for taking off like this, and maybe go out for lunch sometime. There are so many details forgotten, but those can be tended to later. 

But for now, you are on a bullet train. They're expensive but they travel fast so you'll be there in a few hours. Hopefully to go straight back home tomorrow right afterwards. As bad as it was, you don't know why a vision would have to send anyone halfway across Japan. Wasn't there anything else happening closer that was just as life threatening? But that boy with his bright eyes won't leave your mind, and you humble yourself. Visions don't arrive at your convenience, and one person deserves as much help as another. 

Now that you're more awake you can think about the dream clearly. That sculptor, that stripe of white hair, is familiar from news articles. Saino, the famous artist, whose work was trickling into museums all over the world because they were so lifelike. He lives in Tokyo, but the vision tells you that the studio is a little to the side from the city. You'll have to find a guide - you've never been to Tokyo before. 

And then there was that boy. You _knew_ that boy. But where from? 

Little details are dragged up, trying to remember. There aren't many people with eyes so fetching, so _otherworldly_

Eyes… 

Then, you think of another set of eyes. A deep purple that was too unnatural, too vibrant to belong in this mundane reality. Eyes that first met yours one day in the stairwell - the creature called Tsuzuki. But you also remember seeing Tsuzuki just this week - alone. Two mornings ago at the park, he had let loose what looked like a… a flock of birds before running off by himself. Birds out of _nowhere_. That black coat, his young face, scuffed shoes, and the way his tie was never straight - in the last thirty years you've been watching him he hasn't changed at all. It's that man, the Shinigami. 

Then again, you remember a smaller man, with eyes a different color but just as unique. That was it. The boy was Tsuzuki's partner. This is the only partner you can recall seeing more than once. 

But what reason would the kid be with Saino? 

And why would the man be involved with Gods of Death…? 

Ne, how can a Shinigami die, anyway? 

Suitably disturbed, you shift in the seat to look out the window. You change your thoughts to planning on how to get to the place instead. And what to do once there. 

You'll find out the answers soon. 

* 

/_It's night again…_/ 

"This is the place," the taxi driver announces, stopping in front of a looming brick building. It's not a very warming sight, standing alone off from the blocks of smaller homes. Your black cane taps the ground smartly as you use it to pull yourself out. 

"Thank-you very much," you say to the crack in his window. "Do you think you could wait a while? I just wanted to drop by." 

"Sure," the driver answers, smiling. His teeth are awkward, and yellow from smoking. "Are you sure this is the only place you want to see? I'll give you a tour of Tokyo for a good price, a very good price." 

"That's all right, but this will be it." 

The journey to the door is a short scuffle, your bad knee having gone stiff from the ride. The door itself is heavy wood, a fuzzy glass oval at it's center. Jingling the knob tells you it's locked, too. How to get in? You look left then right, as if contemplating on exploring the area. 

From inside, there is a loud crash, followed by more noise. An angry shout. 

Déjà vu finally catches up, this time an icy hand at the back of your neck. This is no time to search for another way in. 

"Hey, mister, do you hear that?" The cabbie opens his window all the way, curious. Then he's a little more than curious when you grab the end of the cane and hold it like a bat. "Wait, what are you doing!" 

The glass fractures on the first strike. The steel toe shatters it completely on the third. 

"You can't do that!" 

"Call the police," you tell him, scrapping your arm through the break and unlocking the door. The driver sits and stares at you, not understanding. "Call them!" you shout. He suddenly straightens then fumbles with a little gray talkie on the dashboard. 

There's a high pitched chorus of glass debris being thrust aside when you heave the door open. The hallway leading from the entry directly to the workroom isn't long, but it feels that way as you stumble and rush towards the growing noise of falling stone. 

And then there they were, like the vision on replay. Again, the wine was on the floor, with the green of the glass, and the red. They rush at each other from the opposite end of the room, fast, violent. 

You step into the room, but they don't notice at all. The kid holds onto the shard of the wine bottle like a life line, clinging to the far wall before darting between statues and pushing the smaller ones over. And Saino, half of his face red from the blinded eye, screams at him - no words, only guttural, feral screams. 

The boy tries to flee, only to have the man grab his wrist and twist him around. Above them a large column teeters dangerously, and Saino raises his iron chisel. 

You come up behind the man. 

Your onyx cane is already arcing down. 

The long side hits Saino on the head, sending him staggering to the side. 

"Move!" You shove him with your foot for good measure, and he lets go of the boy. Taking the other slim hand, you yank the kid away just as the heavy pillar slams into the ground, sending up a small cloud of white. The thud vibrates through your body, shaking your bones. 

You sigh. They were safe, they were both safe. 

Still, that was much too close. 

"Kid?" you begin to ask the young man. But the Shinigami, still crazed and unseeing, cries out and swings the sharp glass at you. It slices through your sleeve and bites down on your arm, the fire forcing you to push him away. He falls, scrambling back. The boy looks up at you, eyes too large, glowing and shining like something precious. 

"Get out," you gasp, clutching your arm. He freezes, not unlike the driver had outside. You jerk your head at the door. "That's the way. Go home." 

No need for you to tell him again. He's already running, still bleeding, still naked, and not looking back. 

You suddenly doubt that he even realized that anyone else had been here at all. But then you think, somehow, he'll be all right. 

Sirens are starting to echo off in the distance. You quickly turn to Saino… 

…but time it was he who came up behind you without you knowing. 

"He's gone," Saino growls. You can hardly look him in the eye - blood runs down his face and body. His expression was like… like he had reached out and touched an angel, and then went mad from the despair when it slipped away. "You let him go." His chisel moves too fast for you to see. 

"I - " You're on the ground clutching your head as spots of light burst in your vision. God, you hurt so much. "You won't get away," you tell him, suddenly angry. Angry for whatever Saino did to the kid, and furious at yourself for having just saved his life - as short as his life may be. 

"They'll be back for you!" you say, closing your eyes. Your job is done - and now it's up to them to do theirs. "The Shinigami will come, and I hope to God - " 

You never finish that statement. 

*** 

After so long, now you can rest. 

The end. 

*** 

Notes: Thank-you for waiting so long for this installment. While it may be the end of this particular unplanned mini-arc, it's not _the_ end. There is still more to be told about Hisoka, but that will be posted up separately in a side story and not in the _Things We See_ series. Also, the next chapter - chapter eight - will be a kind of epilogue very loosely related to this arc. 

There have been some questions about the previous chapters, and while I'm sorry they weren't clear at the time, I'll answer them here. 

The man from chapter four, as you have just read, did live after his encounter with the Shinigami. Which might be of small, late comfort, since he did not after this chapter. 

"Taka-kun" - as Saino called his old college friend - is his nickname for Muraki Kazutaka, as most of you have guessed. (And quite certain as Hell not Yutaka. :P ) Go back, and hopefully you can spot that it was the wine he gave Saino which caused this whole ordeal. 

Again, thank-you so much for your kind feedback, and patience. See you soon! -- RubyD 


End file.
